


Secrets

by tzarobin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gender Dysphoria, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Trans Male Character, Trans Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:27:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22617877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzarobin/pseuds/tzarobin
Summary: We follow Sherlock during his transition from Female to male in a loving family but a not so much loving society. John doesn't know Sherlock is trans and he doesn't really care. He loves him regardless.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 109





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my first language, sorry if it's not perfect! I hope you'll enjoy it regardless!

“Samantha, say hello to the camera!”

It's summer. Mr and Mrs Holmes and their two children are in a field whose grass has been turned yellow by the sun. The sky is blue, without any clouds. They decided to spend the afternoon outdoors together because it has been weeks since they have really spent time as a family. Mrs Holmes captures the moment on video tape.

The 8-year-old girl turns her head towards her mother, frowning, and says dryly.

“Don't call me that, you know I don't like it.”

“Excuse me sweetheart, it was out of my mind. Are you having fun? Tell me what you’re doing.”

Samantha's face lights up then. She likes to talk about her experiences and she does the best she can to explain as precisely as possible the protocol she uses to measure the level of pollen in different types of flowers. Her father taught her to do it a few days ago and she wanted to see if she could do it on her own.

Mycroft, her older brother, looks up from his political book and looks at her, a small smile on his lips. Then, when his sister has finished her explanations, he turns to his mother and declares.

“She will be a great scientist one day.”

It makes Samantha smile and continues her experimentation. Her father taught her a lot about flowers, nature and space. Her mother taught her mostly maths, physics and chemistry. She doesn’t always understand everything, especially when it comes to space, but she’s still ahead of the rest of her classmates at school and sometimes picks up her teacher when he makes mistakes. He doesn't like it, but she doesn't care.

When she is 13 years old, Samantha looks at herself in the bathroom mirror after taking a shower, and tears run down her cheeks. She does not understand what is happening to her body, does not understand why it is transformed in this way. She thought that maybe she could control it, that maybe it wouldn't happen to her. But it didn’t go as she would have liked, and puberty inevitably transformed her body. When she comes out of the bathroom, she rushes into her bedroom without a word and without being noticed by her parents. But she knows her brother saw her.

A few minutes later, he knocks softly on the door and, without waiting for an answer, enters the room.

"Go away, Mycroft.”

Without bothering to answer, Mycroft sits on the bed, where Samantha is folded in on herself, and puts a hand on her frail shoulder. Her sister cries all the more.

Her brother tries to comfort her as best he can, but emotions and feelings have never been his strong point, and he feels totally helpless. Finally, in a broken voice, Samantha sobs.

“I don't want these things on my chest, I don't want them, Mycroft, why am I not like you and dad?”

“Because you were born like that, Sam. I'm sorry.”

“I hate nature. I want to be a boy.”

Mycroft does not respond. He can only feel his sister’s pain. He feels terribly helpless.

That evening, alone in his room, he learns about trans-identity and how he could help Samantha to feel better about herself. He knows she prefers to be called Sam, she's been asking for a long time to be called that, and Mycroft and their parents are trying to do it, but he realizes that it is not enough. That it is no longer enough. He orders her a binder on the internet and, a few days later, when he offers it to Samantha, she bursts into tears and hugs Mycroft tightly.

It’s a winter evening when, accompanied by Mycroft, Samantha, 14, nervously enters the living room. The fire in the fireplace casts a soft, warm golden glow on the walls and furniture. Mrs Holmes has her nose plunged into a book, sitting in an old chair, while Mr Holmes is watching a science show on television.

Samantha takes a last look at her brother who gives her an encouraging smile, and clears her throat to catch the attention of her parents. They turn to their two children and Mrs Holmes exclaims.

“Sam, you are lovely!”

“Your mother is right, this haircut fits you perfectly.”

Samantha smiled shyly as she ran a hand through her now short hair.

“Mycroft cut them off for me. I think it suits me.”

Unfortunately, her classmates did not have the same reaction and the girl had to change schools after weeks of physical and emotional harassment. It upsets her a lot, but she refuses to show it. Mycroft notes that her sister is keeping more and more to herself, that she doesn't try to have friends and that she mostly stays alone.

He promises himself to protect Sam no matter what and starts studying law and politics.

At 15, Sam, once again accompanied by Mycroft, requests that the family meet in the living room for an emergency. Mr and Mrs Holmes, confused, sit on the couch and wait for the girl to explain herself. Standing next to her, her older brother gives her cheering smiles, but Sam knows he's just as nervous as she is.

Trembling, she takes a deep breath and, after a long explanatory monologue, she concludes, tears threatening to run down her cheeks.

“My name is Sherlock, and I am your son.”

His parents embrace him and cry, happy that their child had had enough confidence in them to confide in them, and not be afraid of being who he really is. Mycroft is visibly relieved but refuses to cry when he takes his brother in his arms.

Shortly after, Sherlock began an administrative procedure to change his first name.

At age 17, accompanied by Mrs Holmes, Sherlock goes to a psychiatrist for the last time, after a year of follow-up. He also has a certificate confirming that he is transgender and that he is able to start hormone replacement therapy that will allow him to feel better about himself. Finally.

A week later, a nurse explains to him what to do before injecting himself with the testosterone dose. When he leaves the cabinet, it is with a big smile and a small bandage on the thigh.

At 19, during his first year at the University of Medicine and Biology, Sherlock was harassed again, but this time he said nothing to anyone; he wants to do it alone. Mycroft suspects something, but his brother remains silent, and he no longer lives in his parents' house himself, having been forced to settle alone for his studies. So he can't keep an eye on Sherlock like he used to, and he doesn't want to talk to their parents about it, lest they worry too much. When Sherlock comes home with bruises on his face and arms, he states that he fell down the stairs or accidentally took a door or a wall because he was not looking where he was going (“Everyone knows that when I am in my thoughts, I don’t pay attention at what is around me, Mycroft.”).

But after the first round of exams in December, Sherlock can no longer cope.

Until the day when he no longer seems to care at all about what is happening to him. Until the day he comes home late at night. Until the day when he sometimes doesn't come home at all for days, ignoring the calls from his parents and Mycroft.

Until the day a certain Lestrade, newly promoted Detective Inspector, knocks on the door of the Holmes house at 3 am to explain that “Excuse me for disturbing you at such a late hour, I am here to warn you that your son, Sherlock, was rushed to the hospital after an overdose.”

When Mycroft, Mr and Mrs Holmes arrive at the hospital, Sherlock has an oxygen mask on his face. Doctors say his condition is stable, but he is very weak. They ask them for how long he has not eaten, they are told that he has probably been taking drugs for at least 2 years, but that for a few months, his consumption has been increasing. They advise them strongly to place him in a rehabilitation center.

When Sherlock wakes up two days later, Mrs Holmes cries and hugs him, hugging him tightly. Sherlock doesn't understand. He also doesn't understand why he's in the hospital, he thought he was being careful enough. He understands, however, why Mycroft is looking at him sadly, shaking his head, and he understands when Mr Holmes asks in a whisper, his voice filled with emotion.

“Why did you do that?”

And he answers, without even thinking about it.

“Because I would like not to be me.”

When he got out of the hospital, Sherlock was taken care of by a private clinic. Mr and Mrs Holmes refused to let him go into rehabilitation in a public institution, saying that he would feel out of place and that he would probably be beaten by the other patients.

Sherlock doesn't talk to them for weeks, furious. He knows very well that they are doing this for his own good, but his craving organism wants to know nothing. The first few days are very difficult.

The young man locks himself in, and when he finally comes out of rehabilitation after months locked up, he decides to move alone in an apartment rented by a family friend, Mrs Hudson.

Mycroft makes it a point to keep an eye on all of London's surveillance cameras to find out where Sherlock is at all times.

Sherlock is 21 when he first meets John Watson. The music is loud in the bar where an integration party for new students takes place. Sherlock is not exactly a new student, but after an entire year spent in rehabilitation, he felt the urgent need to go out. He turns his head towards the surveillance camera placed in a corner of the bar; he knows Mycroft keeps an eye on him no matter what he does, and it annoys him. As he looks contemptuously at the camera, followed by an insulting gesture, he is called by Mike Stamford who approaches him accompanied by a young man with blond hair cut short. The latter has a beer barely drunk in his hand.

“Sherlock! I didn't expect to see you here!”

“I needed to go out, but I have to admit that this kind of parties is boring me now.”

Mike gives him a small understanding smile before turning to his companion to signal him to approach. Mike was the only one at the university to visit him while he was in rehabilitation. Although Sherlock doesn't find him more interesting than that, he is grateful for him. He felt awfully alone.

“Sherlock, this is an old friend, John Watson. We were together in primary school.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Sherlock’s heart races immediately. John has a charming smile, blue and sparkling eyes, his shoulders are broad and muscular. Sherlock is slightly taller than him, but he can't help but be intimidated; John seems to be very confident. He swallows hard when Mike says he has to slip away.

Despite his apprehension, the evening went perfectly. John is having his third beer since he was with Sherlock (who knows what he had been drinking before that) and is starting to reveal himself a little. Sherlock would likely have been bored if he did not find his companion attractive. He has an overflowing energy and explains that he always wanted to help people in difficulty and that is why he wanted to be a doctor.

The young man listens to him and observes him attentively. When John talks about things he likes, he makes big gestures and his eyes sparkle. But when he talks about his sister, he is tense and he keeps glancing at the entrance to the bar, as if he wanted to run away.

They decide to leave, the air inside having become too stuffy, and John finally concludes.

“- I've been living with Harry for a few months now and I'm running out of patience. That’s why I’m looking for a roommate. I'll never be able to afford an apartment on my own in London, and I really need to go to uni.”

He takes a sip of his beer and his gaze is lost in the starry sky, while Sherlock hesitates. He looks at John, who now has his eyes closed, his face turned to the sky, letting the wind slide over his face. He feels much less intimidated, and much more confident. He believes that the young man is someone good. It is for this reason that he declares, in a small voice.

“I have an extra bedroom in my apartment. It's not very far from here, 221B Baker Street, and I have a reduction on the rent. I know the owner, she’s a family friend.”

John opens his eyes again, and turns his head towards Sherlock, his gaze plunging into that of the young man who feels himself melting.

A few days later, John moves into the apartment, and Sherlock's heart jumps into his chest at the realization that he will see this man every day of the year to follow. But he must not become attached, he must not hope. When John knows who he really is, he will leave. He must remain distant.

After a few weeks of community life punctuated by university, student parties and exams, John realizes that Sherlock is not a talkative person. Neither sociable. He hardly ever speaks, only when he decides that it is necessary, and above all, never talks about himself or his family. John doesn't hold it against him, because he doesn't talk about his family either.

He plays the violin whenever he wants, even if it is in the middle of the night (“it helps me to think, John!”), hardly sleeps or eats because he finds it particularly useless, and does not will never ever go shopping. John wonders how he stands, and how he lived before meeting him.

Sherlock always goes to get the mail, however. When John asks him why he takes the trouble to get up to get the mail but not to get milk from the local convenience store when they run out, Sherlock doesn't answer.

And one day, while Sherlock, exhausted after a series of sleepless nights working on experiments, sleeps tightly all day, John goes to the mailbox. He notices with surprise that on all the envelopes addressed to Sherlock it is written Mrs. Holmes.

When Sherlock finally gets up, he doesn't mention the mail, and John doesn't ask questions. After all, it’s probably an administrative error, it can happen.

When he realizes that a doctor comes every two weeks to give Sherlock an injection and a blood test, he asks him with apprehension for explanations (maybe Sherlock has a chronic illness and he cannot not want to talk about it). Sherlock hesitates before replying that his brother doesn't trust him for certain things.

It doesn't take a genius to guess what that means, and John feels a chill run down his spine at the thought that his brilliant roommate may one day have been a junkie. He did not ask more questions, feeling terribly guilty for having entered the privacy of his friend.

One day of November, when Sherlock returns from school, it is with a broad smile on his face and a pharmacy bag under his arm. John frowns and Sherlock rolls his eyes. His smile does not fade, however.

“I finally changed my treatment. I will no longer have to have injections.”

John nods, even though he doesn't really know what his roommate is talking about.

That same evening, he notices that Sherlock has a white patch on his forearm as he lies on the couch, hands folded under his chin in the position John calls The Thinking Pose.

“Is this a nicotine patch? I didn't know you… smoked.”

“Because I don't smoke. I don’t anymore at least. But that has nothing to do with it, I told you that I had changed my treatment.”

John hesitates to ask for an explanation, but chooses not to and returns to his human anatomy book, remembering the guilt he felt when he guessed that Sherlock had been a junkie.

Sherlock, meanwhile, feels his heart racing. He figured that if he revealed his life bit by bit, maybe it would help John to understand him and not run away.

On the eve of the Christmas holidays, the results of the first series of exams fell and, to celebrate (or forget that they failed miserably), the students decided to organize an evening.

Sherlock absolutely does not want to go, pretending an experience that can not wait, but John does not fall into the trap. He manages to convince his room-mate that it will be fun and that he can deduct all the people he wants to deduct if it pleases him.

Pouting, Sherlock agrees to accompany him and allows himself to drink a glass of vodka mixed with coca-cola. And then another. And yet another after that. On his fifth drink, his cheeks rosy from alcohol, he glanced at the bar camera, raised his drink with a smile, and drank it dry.

John later finds him outside the building, leaning on a line of ants by the roadside. Flickering slightly under the influence of the alcohol he himself ingested, he joined him and sat down heavily next to him.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?”

“Ah, John, you're good. Look at these ants. Each of them can carry up to 1000 times their weight. How, you will probably ask me. This is due to the particular structure of their thorax, but also to the ratio between their small size and the hardness of their exoskeleton. My father taught me this when I was 5 years old.”

“Sherlock, I don't understand what you're saying, I drank too much alcohol to think about it right away.”

Sherlock stands up and faces John who stares at him with bright eyes, looking amused. They look at each other for a long time and Sherlock feels his heart racing when his body, of his own accord, leans over John to kiss his lips. John immediately places a hand on the back of his skull before grabbing a handful of curly hair and tracing Sherlock's lips with his tongue. Sherlock gasps and John takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into the mouth of his roommate.

Sherlock feels an explosion of butterflies in his stomach. Her heart is racing. The alcohol in his system vibrates him with apprehension for the future.

When they separate, Sherlock says in a whisper.

“We should go home.”

And John nods vigorously, his eyes bright, a broad smile on his lips.

In the taxi back to Baker Street, they can't help but touch and kiss. With the apartment door barely closed, John pushes Sherlock against it, their lips never parting. He grabs a handful of curly hair again, and Sherlock moans in the kiss, a shiver running down his spine.

John smiles against his lips before tilting Sherlock's head back so he has better access to his throat where he places his lips to suck the skin between his teeth.

Sherlock gasps, feeling all the sensations more intensely from the alcohol, and bites his lower lip to make as little noise as possible. He wouldn't want Mrs. Hudson to wake up in the middle of the night because of him.

Then he feels John's erection against his thigh and he panics.

“John...”

The man nibbles on where the shoulder and neck connect, and Sherlock breathes in through his clenched teeth, trying to push John faintly. Alcohol immediately seemed less pleasant to him. He wishes he had never drunk and never initiated anything with John.

“John, please stop...”

The young man looks up, confused, and, seeing that his roommate is on the verge of tears, he steps back as far as possible from him, guilt biting his guts.

“My god, Sherlock, I'm sorry, I didn't realize it wasn't what you wanted, I'm really sorry-”

“John, shut up, it's not you. It's me, I...”

_Don't get attached, stay distant, if he knows who you really are, he'll run away._

Sherlock is silent and clenches his jaw, tears threatening to run down his cheeks. He hates himself so much. He hates that body that is not what he wants, that is not his, he hates that John is so attractive and caring and funny and someone good. He hates not having enough confidence to believe that John would want him if he knew.

John looks at him, silent, worried, eyes wide open.

Sherlock feels bad. Alcohol and anxiety make him sick and the young man rushes to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

John doesn't see him overnight, and guilt keeps him from sleeping.

The next morning, when John goes to the kitchen for a cup of tea, he is surprised, and relieved, to see Sherlock out of his room. He sits in his chair next to the fireplace while another man, dressed in a three-piece suit, is seated in John's chair. They're playing chess, and Sherlock groans when he realizes he's losing. John knows how much Sherlock hates losing; the Cluedo plateau is still nailed to the wall.

“Sherlock?”

The questioned ignores him, as he often does. It is the other man who answers him, getting up by leaning on an umbrella.

“Ah, Mr Watson, hello. Mycroft Holmes, I'm Sherlock's brother, delighted.”

John shakes hands outstretched, confused, while Sherlock says dryly, his eyes still on the game.

“Okay, you can go now.”

Mycroft's lips stretch in a threatening smile and John quickly realizes that it is addressed to him.

_Shit. He knows what happened._

John swallows, hands suddenly sweaty, but his gaze remains on Mycroft who turns back to his brother.

“I just came by to congratulate you on the success of your exams.”

Sherlock groans again and moves his rider on the game board, while Mycroft continues in a voice full of innuendo.

“I also came to speak to John.”

Sherlock looks up at his brother, looking contemptuous.

“I don't need you, Mycroft. John didn't hurt me, and even if it had, I'm more than capable of defending myself, and you know it. It was you who forced me to take these boxing lessons.”

“Sober, probably yes, but the fact that you drank five glasses of vodka last night makes me slightly doubtful, my dear brother. I don't even know how you managed to stand for so long.”

“Do I have to remind you that I dealt with dealers while being in worse shape than a simple glass of alcohol, Mycroft?”

John's heart sinks. He was aware that Sherlock was using drugs, but he had never heard him mention it, let alone admit it.

Ignoring Sherlock, Mycroft said in a somber voice, getting John out of his thoughts.

“John, it is not unknown to me that you and Sherlock have been roommates for several months, nor is it unknown to me that you are doing him the greatest good. I’ve never seen him so… playful to be with someone. People are usually so boring to him.”

John stares at him, motionless, and Mycroft continues, while Sherlock sighs in exasperation.

“I'll ask you just one question, John. What are your intentions with my brother?”

The young man widens his eyes and opens his mouth several times, before Sherlock stands up and says curtly, his face red with anger and embarrassment.

“Mycroft, the door is right in front of you. Emerges. Now.”

The man turns again and stares at his brother for long seconds during which John does not know where to go. What are his intentions with Sherlock? He just wants to show the world that he’s his companion, but after what happened the day before, he’s not sure if that’s what Sherlock wants. He shakes his head gently, mentally calling himself an idiot. Not having sex is not a rejection in itself. Sherlock might as well be asexual.

Mycroft finally sighs and looks away before placing him on John and saying.

“Take good care of my brother. If I find out that anything has happened that he didn't want, you will be dealing with me.”

“Mycroft! Out!”

When Mycroft finally leaves the apartment, Sherlock and John look at each other for a long time, feverish, motionless breathing, and John slowly approaches his roommate to plant himself a few inches from him, and say in a breath.

“I will never do anything you don't want, Sherlock.”

“I know.”

“Can I kiss you?”

After a second of hesitation, Sherlock nods feverishly, knees threatening to let go, and John places a hand behind his head before placing his lips on his roommate's.

A few weeks pass, and John realizes that Sherlock is distant with him. They sleep together, kiss, but Sherlock will never take the first step, he will never kiss John on his own accord, he always lets John do it first. John tries to talk to Sherlock, to ask him if this relationship is really what he wants, that he is under no obligation, but Sherlock repeats to him that yes, that's what he wants and that he wouldn't change that for the world. But Sherlock still remains distant. John has learned, from the time he has lived with him, not to force him, not to rush him. He remains patient because that is what he is. He doesn't want to force Sherlock, or put him in a situation that would be uncomfortable for him. He's waiting for Sherlock to be ready, and if he never is, that's fine with him too.

And then there are the photos. Sherlock doesn't know how Sebastian got them, but he's terrified and angry. He is sitting at his computer, his hands have stopped, and his face is drained of blood. No longer hearing him typing on his computer keyboard, John looks up from his biology book and frowns.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock closes his computer screen and rushes to his room, closing the door behind him.

He dials the Mycroft number which immediately picks up.

“You never usually call me. If I have to behead someone, say it now.”

Tears run down the cheeks of his little brother who, in a voice full of sobs, blows.

"The university website... I don't know how they got the photos, I thought Mum didn't have any more of them...”

“The problem will be solved within fifteen minutes. I can't do it any faster, unfortunately. Has John seen them?”

Sherlock shakes his head, sliding against his bedroom door to the floor, bringing his knees to his chest. He does not know.

Mycroft sighs, the silence providing a sufficient response.

“Sherlock... this is probably the occasion to tell him, don't you think?”

When Sherlock doesn't answer, he sighs and adds.

“I am doing as quickly as possible. You should call mom.”

Sherlock hangs up, and drops his head between his knees, shaking from the sobs. John will hate him. He shouldn't have tied up, he should have refused his advances, asked him to leave, never to talk to him again, but he was weak.

Small hesitant knocks are heard against the door.

“Sherlock, are you okay?" What is happening?”

When there is no answer, John also lets himself slide against the door until he sits against it. His heart is pounding, his hands are trembling. He doesn't understand his companion's sudden change of mood.

“Sherlock... I'm here for you, if you need, I'll always be there for you, do you believe me? You trust me?”

Several seconds passed, silence still on Sherlock's side, and John let the back of his head knock on the door, desperate. He knows Sherlock is not doing as well as he claims, but not knowing what he is thinking when he locks himself in makes him sick. Especially if it is so that it ends this way. What could have put Sherlock in this state? He frowns and asks gently.

“Can I look at what you saw on your computer?”

“If you insist. And if you want to leave after that, I won't hold you back.”

John swallowed hard, a lump formed in his throat. Why would he want to leave? He gets up, goes to sit at Sherlock's desk, and opens his computer. What he sees freezes his blood, and he feels anger rising in him.

Before her eyes are photos of a little girl under which many comments are posted. It’s Sebastian Wilkes’s one that grabs his attention the most: _I knew there was something wrong with this monster. It's a girl! And she makes everyone believe that she is a boy! It's disgusting!_

Other comments are just as negative, and John frowns, returning to the photos. There is no doubt, this child is Sherlock, his eyes and his smile are recognizable among thousands.

He sits again at the door and says, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

“Sherlock, do you believe me when I tell you that I will always be there for you? You can knock on the door if you believe me.”

After, again, several seconds of silence, John's throat tightens, but he doesn't take it personally. He expected it, and would have found it suspicious if he had knocked on the door.

_I wish they'd all die, damn it._

He clears his throat and says in a small, emotional voice.

“Then I'll give you a reason to believe me. I want you to know that I love you and that it will never change. I love you for the person you are, because you make me laugh, because I feel alive when I'm with you, because when you look at me, I feel like the most beautiful thing that you put your eyes on, because you are a great person, that under your airs of sociopath, you are the most emotional person that I know. I fell in love with you from the moment we shook hands in the bar at the integration party. You are the first person to make me feel things that are really very strong. Because you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Your past is watching you and I regret that these assholes are still able to stand up. You will never be, and I will never consider you a woman, Sherlock. Because you are a man, and nothing will change that in my eyes.”

After a few seconds of silence, Sherlock opens the door to the bedroom, and John falls into the room, at the feet of his companion who is looking at him with big wet eyes. John blinks several times, before smiling shyly. Sherlock sniffs and cries all the more, and his roommate hurries to get back on his feet to take him in his arms and hug him tightly. The young man does not protest, and John whispers in his ear that everything will be fine, that they will find those who have done this, that he will always love him, that it will not always be as difficult, as the life will evolve and it will get better later.

“Everything will be fine, Sherlock. If Sebastian isn't kicked out of college in the next few days, I'll take care of it personally. I won't let him get away with it.”

Sherlock nods gently, gesturing to John that he understands it, and gripping the young man's sweater as if his life depends on it, not daring to let go at the risk of realizing that all this is only 'a fantasy, that it is only the fruit of his desperate imagination.

Sherlock decides not to go back to college and graduate as a free candidate after that.

Two weeks after the incident, no one sees Sebastian Wilkes at the university, and no one knows what has become of him. John and Sherlock had a long chat, Sherlock explaining the whole transition process to his companion, who listens to him very carefully, before concluding.

“I didn't want people to define me only by... that.”

“You are much more than your transition, Sherlock. So much more than your transition.”

Sherlock is 23 when he lands a training course at New Scotland Yard, under the tutelage of Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. The latter always knew that Sherlock would be an important element of the representatives of the order one day, and, when Mycroft came to see him to extol the merits of Sherlock to him, the decision was not difficult to take. Now, although he still thinks Sherlock can be an important part of the police force, Greg regrets letting him know. The young man is all the more arrogant.

“Sherlock, if you could stop insulting my agents, it would be very nice.”

“Excuse me, Detective Inspector, but if your men were agents worthy of the name, you wouldn't need me to solve your investigations.”

The young man retorts with a smirk and nudges at John who takes pictures of the crime scene. The apprentice doctor looks up at his companion who places a chaste kiss on his lips. Lestrade sighs but doesn't really believe it. These two had found each other very well.


End file.
